Lolo's Girl

They say parents show grandchildren the love that they are unable to demonstrate to their children. I think the reverse is true as well.

Tatay, my father, passed away when Indie was barely 16 months old. And up to now, she remembers him as a grown up never forgets a loved one long gone.



I don't know but as soon as Indie developed preferences for people and objects, Tatay became her instant favorite. She would grin from cheek to cheek whenever her lolo was around. Perhaps because he was a bit Dolphy-like, a comedic character who saw humor in everything. When Tatay played silly baby games with her, she would squeal and clap her hands in delight as if she was having the time of her young life. It came as no surprise then that the second word Indie spoke, next to mama, was tata.

When Indie had a McDonald's party for her first birthday, Tatay traveled all the way from Batangas even if he was just recovering from a chemotherapy cycle that almost killed him. (Upon watching the party video a few weeks ago, Indie said, "Look mommy, Tatay went to McDonald's. He gave me a gift then he went to heaven.")



Two months after, Tatay's cancer had gone up to his brain and there were days when his legs and arms would hurt so badly no one could touch them. Even so he would make a huge effort to clap his hands when Indie was there for the sole purpose of making her laugh. Just days before he breathed his last, I remember Indie crawling on his bed to kiss his hand and Tatay struggled, aching limbs and all, to raise his hand and bestow his last blessings on his youngest apo.

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It pains me to write this but I know I have to. So that Indie may one day read this when she's a lot older and remember that there was once an old boy who loved her dearly. Her Tatay, her mother's father, whom she showered with all the affection her little heart could muster.